“In sooth, I never intended to follow them,” Jamie said. “If you did not come by morning, I was going to ride into Rouen and get you.”
“François! Isobel! Stephen!”
Stephen heard Linnet’s shouts as she ran toward them, her fair hair shining in the darkness.
The ride back to Caen was a nightmare. Every hour, Stephen had to weigh the exhaustion of his charges and horses against the need to reach Caen before the king departed for Chartres.
The Armagnac men who controlled the often-mad French king had proposed a secret meeting between the two monarchs at Chartres in just a few days’ time. King Henry agreed, since such a meeting could lead to a negotiated end to the conflict. To keep the meeting secret, King Henry would leave his army behind and travel to Chartres with only a small escort.
If the Armagnacs intended to murder King Henry, the rendezvous in Chartres provided them with the perfect opportunity.
Stephen had allowed his group only two or three hours’ rest in the wood outside Rouen. This morning, they rose early and rode hard all day. He called a halt tonight only when darkness made riding too dangerous for the horses.
He found Isobel sitting before the crackling fire with Linnet’s head in her lap. She looked up as he approached and gave him a weary smile.
“I hate to wake her to finish her supper,” she said.
“I’ll see she gets an extra portion in the morning.” He knelt to lift the girl. “You should sleep, as well. We’ll break camp at first light.”
It hurt him to see how drawn Isobel’s face was.
“I have never been so tired,” she said, pushing her hair from her face. “Still, I cannot sleep just yet.”
Linnet’s arms and legs hung limp against him as he carried her to the blanket she would share with Isobel. When he returned, Isobel was gone. He looked across the fire to where Geoffrey, Jamie, and François were rolling out their blankets.
“She went to the stream to wash,” Geoffrey said.
“Watch over Linnet,” Stephen ordered, irritated that they let Isobel go alone.
By moonlight, he followed the bank of the stream away from the camp. All day he had wanted to speak with her. But the ride was too strenuous for serious talk, and he had to keep constant watch. Now that he finally had his chance, he was uncertain how to broach the subject with her.
He heard a splash of water and spotted a dark shape squatting at the edge of the stream. He hurried to her and helped her to her feet.
“Isobel, you will freeze to death!” He wrapped his cloak about her and held her until she stopped shivering.
He leaned back to look at her face, but the moonlight was not bright enough to read her expression. Surely she knew what he wanted to say? He took her hands and waited, hoping she might say something to encourage him.
Finally, he simply told her what he wanted: “As soon as we arrive, I want to ask the king’s permission for us to marry.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath.
“We must act quickly, before the king decides upon another husband for you.” He was determined not to let the king outflank him again.
“I thought you understood,” she said in a halting voice. “I do not carry your child.”
Her words were like a knife to his heart. “You see that as the only reason for us to marry?” Hurt rang in his voice, but he could not help it.
When she did not deny it, he swallowed his pride. “But you still need a husband; de Roche may have given you a child.” He kept his voice soft, though the thought of the villain’s hands on her wrenched his guts.
“You need not rescue me from that, as well.” Her voice was high, tense. “I am in no danger of having his child.”
Stephen sagged with relief. God be praised, the vile bastard had not taken her.
Still, the conversation was not going as he had hoped.
“I wish to have you as my wife,” he said, belatedly recalling Catherine’s advice, “because I love you.”
“If that be true,” she snapped, “I am sorry for it.”
His hopes were like dust in his mouth. Fighting to keep calm, he asked, “Do you not care for me at all?”
“Not care?” Isobel raked her hands through her tangled hair. “If only I did not care! If only I did not love you!”
All the tension and tiredness fell from him. He felt light, happy. All would be well. Isobel loved him!
But when he tried to pull her into his arms, she threw her hands up.
“ ’Tis because I love you I could not bear the betrayals,” she said, backing away.
“How can you think I will betray you?” he said, reaching out to her. “I love you.”
“Do you think I do not know about all your women?” she said, her voice rising. “I was there. I saw you every day in Caen.”
“I will honor my marriage vows,” he said, an edge to his voice. Did she not see how she insulted him?
“One day in Rouen, and you have courtesans giving you money, doing you favors!”
“I can explain about the women—”
“If it is not women, it will be something else.” When he tried to speak again, she covered her ears and shouted, “Have I not suffered enough?”
He grabbed one of her hands and pressed it to his heart. “For you, I will be the best man I can be. I want to make you proud of me, to be proud of myself. I will be a good husband, a good father. Isobel, please. Trust me.”
“I cannot, I cannot!” She jerked her hand away and ran from him into the darkness.
When he started after her, Geoffrey stepped out of nowhere to block his way.
“Let her go,” Geoffrey said with his hand pressed against Stephen’s chest.
“But I must tell her—”
“Not now,” Geoffrey said, holding his ground. “Not tonight. Can you not see how weary she is?”
But he needed to tell her about the spying so she would understand about the women. “She is upset, I—”
“For heaven’s sake, Stephen, she still has the last man’s blood on her!”
Stephen shuddered as he recalled the moment he turned and saw her chest drenched in blood.
“She was trying to wash it off,” Geoffrey said.
Stephen knew what it was like to be covered in that much blood. Though he gave her a clean shirt and a bucket of water last night, nothing short of a full scrubbing in a steaming hot bath could get the blood out of all the cracks and crevices.
Geoffrey took Stephen’s arm and turned him around. “You must give her time to recover.”
“You are right, of course,” Stephen said, feeling wretched. Less than a day after she escaped rape and murder by her last betrothed, he was pressing her to marry.
“I see more than my sister gives me credit for,” Geoffrey said. “Sit down and I will try to help you.”
Stephen slumped down beside Geoffrey in the tall, wet grass by the stream. “Does she not believe I love her?” he asked, desperation rising in his throat.
“You concern yourself with the wrong question.” Geoffrey picked up a stone and tossed it into the water. “What Isobel wants to know is, can she trust you? Will you be there when she needs you? Or will you sacrifice her for something you want more?”
Stephen stared at the dark, moving water. He heard the splash of another stone and watched the ripples in the reflected moonlight.
“I was too young to remember our mother before our family’s fall from grace,” Geoffrey said. “But it was different for Isobel. Both she and our father felt abandoned.”
“Isobel told me something of it.”
“That loss made their bond closer still,” Geoffrey said. “They enjoyed each other’s company and liked to do the same things—sword fight, ride fast. She became both companion and the kind of son he wished he had. ’Tis lucky Isobel has a good heart, for our father could not tell her ‘nay.’ He adored her.”
“And still,” Stephen said, “he traded her happiness for a chance to have his lands ba
ck.”
“It devastated her,” Geoffrey said, shaking his head. “I worry for her soul, for she has yet to forgive him.”
“So, no matter that I love her, she believes I will betray her, too?”
“ ’Tis worse than that,” Geoffrey said.
“Worse?”
“Aye. She loves you.”
“How can that be worse?” It was the one thing that gave Stephen hope.
“That is why she is so determined not to marry you,” Geoffrey said, patting Stephen’s shoulder. “She knows the more she cares, the more you can hurt her.”
“Isobel would not throw happiness away for lack of courage,” Stephen argued. “Would she?”
“She has courage to spare,” Geoffrey said, getting to his feet. “The problem is, she has an equal measure of stubbornness.”
Damn! Stephen leaned back on his hands and gazed up at the moon. Somehow he must find a way to convince her she could trust him. But how?
“I suggest you pray,” Geoffrey said, above him.
He heard Geoffrey walking through the brush in the direction of their camp.
“Pray without ceasing,” Geoffrey called out from the darkness. “That is your best course.”
Chapter Thirty-six
Caen Castle was a glorious sight, the distinctive stone of its high walls pink in the light of sunset. At long last! When Stephen finally led his bedraggled group through the gates, one of the king’s guards was there waiting for him.
“The king had us watching for you from the towers,” the man told him. “You must come at once.”
When they reached the Exchequer, Stephen helped Isobel dismount. She was so exhausted, she fell into his arms.
“I cannot see the king like this,” Isobel pleaded.
Poor Isobel, she still wore men’s clothes. Despite her attempts at washing, she was as filthy as the rest of them.
“I’m sorry, but the king will want to hear of the plot from your own mouth,” Stephen told her. “He’ll tolerate no delay.”
She had dark circles under her eyes and looked so weary he was tempted to carry her. Instead, he fastened her cloak for her and pulled her hood low over her face.
“Now no one will see what you wear,” he said, “except the king, and he will not notice.”
They were ushered into the king’s private parlor behind the great hall. To Stephen’s relief, the king was unattended save for Robert, William, and Catherine.
“God be praised you are safe,” the king said before Stephen could exchange greetings with the others. “Once we learned de Roche was involved in the attack on the abbey, we feared for you both.”
“How did you learn of de Roche’s role?” Stephen asked.
The king smiled at Catherine. “Your sister-in-law got it out of Marie de Lisieux.”
Catherine smiled back. “I could not let the men risk their virtue by questioning her, could I?”
Stephen gave them a brief recounting of the events in Rouen. The king seemed more intrigued than disturbed by the news of the murder plot. After peppering Stephen with questions, he turned to Isobel.
Stephen was worried. She was swaying on her feet, and the king had to ask her repeatedly to speak up. After she recited the critical letter from “T,” the king narrowed his eyes and stared off into the distance.
“The Dauphin is behind it,” the king said, rubbing his chin. “He has the most to lose, and this is just the sort of cowardly act he would favor.”
“He would not act without key Armagnacs behind him,” William said.
“Perhaps not,” the king said. “But I doubt King Charles—or that depraved queen of his—had any part in this scheme.”
“That would make for awkward relations when you wed their daughter,” Robert put in.
The king broke into laughter. “Too true!”
The king’s expression grew serious as he turned his attention back to Stephen and Isobel. “I am most grateful for this service and wish to reward you.”
Stephen bowed. “ ’Tis an honor to serve you.”
“Lady Hume,” the king said, “I owe you a husband.”
Damn! Could Henry not give him even a day to get matters settled with Isobel?
Stephen caught Robert’s wink and looked to his brother. William’s nod confirmed it. They had already spoken to the king on his behalf. Isobel was his.
“I apologize for my first choice of husband,” the king said, “but I believe you will be happy with my next.”
The king’s eyebrows shot up as Isobel fell to the floor at his feet.
“Please, I beg you, sire,” Isobel said. “Do not make me do it. If you are grateful for my service, release me from my promise.”
The king glared at William and Robert. “You told me she would be pleased.”
Robert motioned to the king, urging him to continue.
“Please, do not make me,” Isobel wailed and pounded her fist on the floor. “Can I not be left alone!”
“Lady Hume is past exhaustion,” Stephen said, ignoring William’s signal to be quiet. “Please, sire, can this wait until tomorrow, when she is rested?”
The king gave Stephen a curt nod.
“Thank you, sire,” Stephen said.
He made a quick bow and helped Isobel to her feet. As he half carried her out of the hall, he tried to speak to her. She made no response to his entreaties.
William caught up with them at the bottom of the steps. “Lady Hume,” he said in a gentle voice as he took her arm. “My wife and I want you to stay with us at our house in the town.”
Catherine appeared behind them and pushed Stephen aside to take Isobel’s other arm. Without a word to him, husband and wife walked away with the now-placid Isobel between them.
William turned to give Stephen an exasperated look over his shoulder. As if the scene inside had been his fault! Stephen clenched his fists in frustration.
He felt a hard thump on his back and turned to find Robert standing beside him on the steps.
“That did not go as well as we had hoped,” Robert said. “Did you not realize the king has chosen you to be her husband?”
“I guessed as much.” Stephen sank to the bottom step and rested his head on his arms. It was all too much. He was bone weary. “But I could not take her like that.”
“Come, come,” Robert said, settling down next to him. “Isobel thought the king was marrying her off to another scum like Hume or de Roche. Who could blame her for objecting?”
“She does not want to marry me.”
“Isobel will come around, once she realizes how much she cares for you.”
“She says she loves me,” Stephen said without lifting his head from his arms. “It does not help my cause.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Isobel could not breathe! De Roche’s hands were around her throat, squeezing with a ferocious strength as he leaned her backward over the bed.
“You! You!” he croaked, his eyes bulging.
Panic surged through her, giving her the strength to do what she should have done before. With one sweep of her arm, she brought the double-edged blade across his throat.
For one horrifying moment, de Roche hovered above her, gushing blood like a fountain. Blood splattered her face, soaked her shirt, and ran in rivulets down the sides of her neck. Then de Roche collapsed against her, trapping her against the bed. He was so heavy! Gagging convulsively, she fought to push him off.
Isobel sat up in bed, her heart racing.
A dream. This time, it was a dream.
Gingerly, she touched her fingertips to her chest to be sure. The cloth was dry. She looked down and let her breath out when she saw the clean white shift.
De Roche and LeFevre were dead. She was safe.
She heard a door scrape, and her hand flew to her throat.
“Lady Hume?” a cheerful voice called out. “Are you awake?”
Isobel pulled the bed curtain back as a plump older woman entered the room carrying a steaming tr
ay.
“Feeling better today?” the maid asked over her shoulder as she set the tray on a table near the door.
“I am, thank you,” Isobel answered. “Did I sleep long?”
“A full night and day, m’lady,” the maid said with a laugh. As she came toward the bed, she pinched her brows together. “Tsk, tsk, those are nasty bruises.”
Isobel dropped her hand from her throat.
“Such a tired lamb! You gave me quite a turn, you did, falling fast asleep in the tub.”
“You scrubbed the blood from my fingers,” Isobel said, remembering.
She was so grateful she could have kissed the woman. For two days, every time she looked down at her hands on the reins, she saw de Roche’s blood crusted under her nails. She couldn’t get it off, washing in the dark with no soap.
How could Stephen and the king speak to her of marriage when she still had de Roche’s blood on her boots and leggings and matted in her hair?
“I would have let you rest longer,” the maid said, “but your brother has come to take you to the king.”
“To the king?” It felt as if she had just left him.
She closed her eyes. Damn that old fool Hume! If he’d not been taken in by Bartholomew Graham’s lies, none of this would have happened. She would never have met de Roche, she would not have had to kill anyone, and she would not have bruises on her throat. She would be living peacefully in Northumberland, running her household.
What would be her fate now? That a marriage alliance had failed to ensure de Roche’s loyalty would not deter the king from trying again. Which French nobleman did King Henry wish to bind to him now?
Or would it be Stephen? Could he convince the king? If he did, what would she do?
She would agree. Of course, she would.
How long would it be before he broke her heart? A few weeks? Six months? A year? Regardless, she would rather be unhappy with him than be with another man. If God were kind, she would have children to comfort her.
An hour later, she entered the Exchequer hall. Her heart dropped to her feet when she saw that Stephen was not there.
She stood before the king, once again waiting to hear her fate. Geoffrey and Robert stood on either side of her.
Knight of Pleasure Page 27
